


The Distant Trees

by TickTock_1895



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25949452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TickTock_1895/pseuds/TickTock_1895
Summary: The narrator begins to disconnect from their life.
Kudos: 2





	The Distant Trees

I imagine myself as a child, many years ago. I lived a young life full of clarity then. Because when I fell to the ground, I felt more than the stinging pain against my palms. I could also feel that cold and liquid feeling inside of my chest, and I would feel the urge to cry, and sometimes I would. When I spoke to the people around me then, I wouldn't sit with the curiosities of their discomforts and disingenuity, I would talk to them with my heart open wide. And when I looked to the trees on a long drive home, I believe I felt the trees in their entirety, looking at each one tree as its own before it left my line of sight.

But that was forever ago, a sort of life I doubt ever existed at all. Nowadays, I feel as if I live my life through the lens of a morning dream. I can recall those days still in great detail, but I don't live in that reality anymore. Now, I see everything in a blurry vision of my own consciousness, my life having become more of a haze with each passing year. Try as I might, I can't take that moment to smell the flowers anymore. To me, it's as if the flowers have lost their scent entirely. I live my life as a chef without a tongue and a poet without a pen.

However, I can't say that I don't have these emotions. I am still human, after all. I do still get scared when I stand a little too high above. I do still feel angry when I am cursed at by men who have no such right to do so. And I do still laugh when I hear a good joke from family and friends. I still do feel all these things, but I worry that I don't feel them the same way anymore. I worry that the embers of life have lost their passion and that soon I may lose that fire entirely. Even when my heart has been beaten and bruised, I still often sit there pitifully with my discontent. I go to bed after a long, draining day, and I lay there numb. And as I lay there, I can only feel guilt for not being as upset as I wish I was. I know in my heart that I do feel that pain, but all I can do lay in my bed, wake up in the morning, and live my life as if nothing had happened at all.

And, sometimes, I wish I could just cry again. I wish I could just let my feelings out, cry for hours until I can't physically cry anymore, and hope that soon all of this suffering would just wash away with all my tears.


End file.
